


The Painter

by Agirllovespancakes



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Golden century AU, Mutual Pining, Nudity, Slow Burn, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:27:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29043861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agirllovespancakes/pseuds/Agirllovespancakes
Summary: "You're the daughter of an important British art trader, moving to Amsterdam with him to expand the reach of your father's empire by marrying his business partner. Since your fiance does not seem to be interested in you as a person, you spend your days avoiding him. When you meet the kind-hearted artist Marcus, you are torn between your duty to your father and the painter you are falling in love with…"
Relationships: Marcus Pike/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU! Marcus Pike is younger in this story but holds the same chararacterization. 
> 
> This is the first chapter and thus an introduction. You will get to know the girl/reader, her father, her maid and how the city looks to them. Amsterdam is a city I visit a lot and it holds a place in my heart. I wanted to write a story about this city and Marcus Pike is my victim ksksksks.

Placing the hat on your head, you smile at your own reflection in the mirror. The newly bought hat was bright blue, decorated gracefully by white feathers, giving your outfit a final touch. You clasp the strings together in case the breeze outside will be too strong. You bow to your own reflection once, to check if anything is out of order and then turn to walk down the hall. 

Arriving in the dining room you look at your father who sits at the table, frowning at the papers before him, papers that require attention. You suspect that they are about your marriage. Unable to hide the grimace on your face at the thought of having to marry the man your father has been gushing about, you walk around the table to approach him.

“Father? Do I look good?” You ask with a sweet smile. 

He looks up with a distressed frown that melts away when he watches you standing before him, a smile making its way onto his face. “You look wonderful, my sweet daughter,” he turns to look at the papers again, then glances back at you, a slightly questioning look on his face, “why are you so nicely dressed up, dear? Your fiance will not be arriving today.”

“I want to see the city," you explain, "If I am to live here, I must know the whereabouts.”

“Have Annie go with you. I do not wish my daughter to get lost,” your father says and places his hand on the seam of your dress, examining the texture. “Buy yourself some pretty dresses while you're at it. They require different dress codes here in Amsterdam.” 

You scoff, remembering the dresses you have seen when you arrived here with distaste. So far you have only seen wealthy women wearing dark sober dresses, not as pretty or colourful as the ones that you wear back at home. Yet you nod at your father and tell him that you will get those dresses.

Walking toward the kitchen you call out your maid, Annie, unsure if you pronounced her name correctly. However, she rushes to you with a sweet smile and even though she is younger than you, you know she is more experienced.  
You ask her if she has time to come with you to explore Amsterdam, and she nods happily, telling you that she has lived in Amsterdam since her birth and knows every corner in the city. It is her home and she was relieved to go outside. You silently agree with her comment, and you wait for her to get ready.

She puts on her own hat, before hooking her arm around yours, guiding you to the outside. 

The weather is cold and the wind is even more so, sharp and hurting your cheeks as it whips past your face. The sun does warm your skin though and you want to stop to take in the surroundings. 

Annie laughs at you, “It is much different here, Miss. Please stay close to me, is there anywhere you want to go?”

“Please, I want to see everything," you say with a slight smile, "I wish to be outside as long as the sun lets us.”

“Then we have all day!” Annie exclaims. 

The Prinsengracht is the longest canal in Amsterdam. The warehouses are large, imposing and in use to load goods. Your father is a rich tradesman who uses your current house to install arts. Paintings, clothing, handcrafted pots, vases and carpents. He travels through Europe to look for unknown artists, promoting them into making more of their unusual crafts, profiting from them.. Unlike other traders, your father isn’t a fan of ships and travelling the world. He rather stays on ground and does not want to risk money on ships travelling to unknown lands. 

You look at the people around you in awe. The warehouses did not interest you no matter their architecture, even if they look quite impressive. The people around are much more interesting due to their expressions, their clothing and their actions. A woman rushes past you while holding her hat and her whining child. She wears a brown dress and a cape that keeps her warm. You could barely see the child due to the fabrics he is bundled in, covering him entirely and it is only his voice that makes it clear the child is a boy. 

Annie grins while watching them go by. 

Then a man with a ruff around his neck and a short cloak draped over his right shoulder greets you, calling you a 'beautiful miss' and you roll your eyes at his attempt to gain your attention once he is out of sight. You have noticed that all rich men wear accessories like these. 

A boy waves with a newspaper, screaming that the newest paper has important news and that it only costs a few pennies on top of his lungs . Since you have no idea how much a penny is, you look at your companion with raised eyebrows and a questioning look. Picking up on your confusion, Annie assures you she will explain the meaning of each coin to you later. As you walk further you turn to look at the boy one last time. Seeing how the boy corrects his hat after it fell forward over his forehead, you stifle a laugh at the grumble the boy made. 

\---

“Miss? Is this something you might want?” Annie holds up a vlieger and bursts out in laughter at your distressed reaction.

“I do not see the humor in this.” You point out while grinning. The vlieger, as the people in Holland call it, looks awful and unfashionable. The color does not match any of your outfits. “Why are the clothes in this country so-” you thought of a good word. 

“Sober, Miss,” Annie says. “It is fashionable to wear sober and modest clothing. Even more so for people of status.”

“Hmm, give me the skirts instead. They look good.” You point at the skirts hanging in front of Annie. 

You sigh to yourself since you know your future husband will require you to wear those accessories. Every married woman in Holland wears a vlieger. Holding up the thing, you look at it with disgust in your eyes. 

You miss the dresses you could wear everyday in England. Even this dress you are wearing now isn’t what you like, dark blue with modest accessoires, and only the hat is exactly what you would wear back home. You wonder if your fiance would even look at you.

Every time he visits you and your father, he has only attention for the other man. He barks orders at you, demanding you to bring them tea and cookies and to leave them alone, and it is as if he doesn’t know you are to be his wife soon. You feel like you're just someone he can order around. Your father and him discuss their plans his entire visits, not even bothering to check on you. You know about their plans, and you always find a way to listen to their discussions. They want to be business partners and put their art collections together, therefore becoming even richer. 

Your fiance’s dream is to live in the Golden bend, the shortest canal named Herengracht. It was the canal with the most expensive and largest warehouses, and only the real elite, the richest civilians of the city, live there. Your father is more interested in his collections since he loves finding new treasures and stories. You wish he could see your fiance’s greed and not just the promises he makes. You shiver at the thought of having to be his wife, to do what he wishes and to even -- you could barely think it -- bear his children. 

The thought of him touching you is enough to make you shudder in disgust. 

You let Annie buy a few dresses and these strange Dutch accessories that are slightly less horrid in your opinion. Most of them are light blue or black with many colorful rosettes and bows. You don’t even check the prices. If your father wants you to marry a cruel and greedy man then he must accept your purchases. 

After you bring your newly acquired belongings back home to eat lunch with your father and to show him the dresses, you go out again with Annie. The girl seems to enjoy your presence as you don’t require her to be inside all day. She tells you that she loves how you refuse to be inside even if you don't know what else to do. You walk together over the cobblestones and enjoy the sun’s warmth despite the cold air. You are surprised there isn’t much snow anymore while it’s still very cold. The wind makes you feel refreshed, similar to when you have walked several hours in the forests of England. 

You miss your home. 

You lived in a large landhouse between the fields of southern England. While a city can be very exciting and full of wonderful people, you miss the farmers, the animals and the smell of forests surrounding your home. And what was most exciting was your father taking you on long walks or rides on your horses in the nearby forests. You miss your horses as well.

Annie buys herself a warm bread roll and eats it quickly as the both of you look at the canals. The ships are large, imposing while their goods are unloaded. Every ship seems to come from a different country: France, England, Norway and Spain. The Dutch ships are nowhere to be seen.

“Is the bread any good?” You ask her.

“Yes, Miss,” Annie smiles after she takes another bite, “You want a piece?”

She gives you a small piece that is still warm and you take a bite from it. You beam at the good flavour. “It is really good!” You exclaim.

“I know right, Miss. You should ask your father to let the cook buy them. To have them everyday would be a dream.” Annie says while taking another bite from her bread, her voice muffled from the chewing.

You laugh and look at the ships again. “Where are the Dutch boats?”

Annie stops chewing and turns to look at what you are watching. “They are travelling now to get new goods.” 

You nod and listen to her while you look at the water, that shows the reflections of the buildings and you soak in the colorful images. A blue bird flies past you and you turn your head in awe at the creature. “What was that?”

Annie chews on her bread. “A kingfisher, Miss. Never seen one before?”

“I don’t think so. It was so...blue,” you say while smiling in delight. 

“They are beautiful," Annie tells you, "Your father most likely has books containing drawings of them. You should take a look in his library.”

“I-" you hesitate, before confiding in her: "He doesn’t allow me there.” 

She smirks slyly. “Oh, I can get you in there. Like, let’s say I let you in while I clean the space. He never comes in while I am cleaning.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” You ask her, looking at her thankfully.

Annie gives you a soft smile. “You respect me, Miss.” 

\----

While Annie pays a woman for flowers to put on the table in the dining room, you gaze over the canal. On one shore there are a few young men holding a wooden drawingboard with paper on it. They are painting. You raise your eyebrows at them and squint your eyes to see them better, and you realise that they are painting the ship on the other side: A beautiful large ship with the French flag, imposing, with vibrant colors. The captain stands with pride next to it.  
He is speaking with a few men looking almost exactly like your fiance, all dressed similarly, but that did not interest you. What gets your attention instead is the lone boy a few warehouses further. 

He sits on the edge of the street, legs dangling above the canal, a concentrated expression on his face while he looks at his paper and draws with a single pencil. You found yourself staring much longer at him than any other civilian you noticed today. His hair is messy, short and dark brown, and you can’t see his eyes from here but his features are beautiful. He is sun-kissed despite the winter, a sign he is outside everyday. You frown, realizing he is much skinnier than most people here.

“Annie? Why isn’t that boy with the other painters?” you ask.

She sighs. “I suppose he isn’t a member of the school of arts. Monsieur asks a lot of money for his education, and most of them are children from rich families. Of course he could attend the school if he is talented enough. Monsieur sometimes notices talent and lets them attend his school even if they can’t pay his price. He believes talent is more important than money. This boy perhaps has no talent or didn’t try yet.” She shrugs as she looks at him. Not bothering to look better like you.

You refuse to believe it and decide to take a closer look, standing up and moving towards him.

“Miss?” Annie calls out your name, her panic audible as you walk away.

You ignore her as you pass the painters and take a closer look at the boy. The boy in question isn’t a boy at all. You suspect he is as old as you are or perhaps even older. Watching him drawing you notice he has chosen a much different subject. One that should be considered more difficult than a ship that doesn’t move at all. Civilians, he draws the people moving over the bridge, the one you just walked over as well. Noticing he is quite good at it, you smile in awe. 

His hand moves fast as he draws the figures on the bridge. He doesn’t pay attention to the details, instead he uses thicker lines to bring out the differences. A drawing tactic you haven’t seen any artist use while paying you and your father a visit. You want to approach him and give him a compliment on the drawing but you don’t, shyness takes over and you do not want to bother him. You could ruin his current concentration, you reason with yourself, and turn. Instead of moving further towards him, you walk back to Annie, planning to seek the artist out tomorrow. You see your companion, who is panicking as if you ran away. 

“I wasn’t going anywhere,” you assure her, "I just took a look." 

“I don’t want to lose you in the crowd. Night falls soon,” she explains. After looking over your shoulder for one last time, you and Annie start to walk back home.

\----

“And how did the afternoon treat you, my dear?” your father asks as he sips from his tea and looks at you with interest.

“I suppose it went great. We went to the market and bought bread from the market. It is delicious, we must buy more of it.”

Your father nods. “Then we shall ask our cook to get them.”

You smile at him, happy in the knowledge that he is interested in what you did today. Not sure how to start this subject you cough slightly, looking down at your plate.  
“I saw a lone painter drawing moving people. It was fascinating to look at him”

“Moving people huh.” He repeats and laughs. “You cannot use moving people as a subject! It is impossible.”

“No, it's not I saw it! And he even drew fast-” You try while you pick at your food.

“Nonsense,” he interrupts you in anger, raising his voice slightly, “do not repeat this again. We both know this is impossible. You have too much fantasy like your mother. You should prepare yourself for your fiance’s visit tomorrow.”

You want to ask about your mother but the fact your fiance is coming tomorrow infuriates you: “He doesn’t pay me attention at all. I could wear a dirty rag with holes in it and he wouldn’t even notice!”

“Silence!” he shouts, “Leave my sight and go to your room. This is unacceptable. A young lady shouldn’t behave like this -- nor should she pay attention to some poor boy.”

You get up and throw the plates on the floor. You apologize to your father, looking down at the broken plates before leaving. Everytime you dine with your father you want to tell him about something you have discovered and it is unfair that he interrupts you only to talk about your fiance and how you have to prepare yourself for the marriage. You hate them. Hate their expectations of you.  
Heading for your bedroom you decide to stay in there all evening. Even Annie isn’t welcome in your room to chat with even if she is the only one in this house who you trust enough to listen to you. She is kind and you would like to confide in her but you can’t calm down enough to have a reasonabe conversation.

Instead, you watch the canal through the window. The street underneath you slowly revealing itself with more people heading inside. It starts to snow and you feel yourself shivering. Putting your nightgown on you sit at your desk and grab your diary.  
You furiously write down that you hate your fiance and the clothes they wear in Amsterdam. After calming down some and looking at the angry scribbles, you also write that you love the bread here, the canals and the people. And smiling at the memory, you write a full page about the lone painter drawing the moving people.  
You hope to see him again. And perhaps, if it is possible to speak to him. If he can’t speak English you will do your best to learn Dutch as quickly as possible. 

Looking at the shelf full of books next to your bed, you decide that you could start with getting used to their language. You might not know what it tells you but you can repeat the words and learn the pronunciation. Closing the diary, you get up to draw the curtains as well. It was time to sleep and you know tomorrow will be a long day of suffering with the visit of your fiance.  
Crawling into bed, you shift underneath the thick blanket and sigh. It is dark in the room except for the candlelight next to you. You turn to it to blow out the flame. As it gets completely dark you close your eyes. You think about the boy with a smile on your face before you fall asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

It has been a full week since you were outside. You sigh as you look out of the window and watch the children play in the snow. They throw snowballs, build sculptures, they sled and roll in the snow. It looks delightful and you worry the snow will disappear before your father lets you outside again.

He doesn’t know you are here. Annie keeps an eye on the door while she cleans the shelves. She has assured you that she will keep your presence a secret. While she is cleaning the library you study the books to learn the language. She has helped you a few times with pronouncing the words correctly, and you have noticed she is quite good with teaching. You wonder if she would have become a teacher if she had the opportunities. Annie always smiles so bright when you ask her for help and you secretly ask her more often than necessary, just to see her smile.

Your father didn’t think it would be necessary for you to learn the language. You know that, you asked him about it several times back in England. It hurts and confuses you because if you can’t speak it, how can you have a good relationship with your soon-to-be husband? Your father simply would not be caring at all. You plan to surprise them with your skills but for now, you and Annie keep it a secret, giggling about this very often.

The week after has actually been horrible. Your fiance visited you often and you hated the conversations you had with him. You had a few lunches with him and you could honestly say those were your least favorite days ever in history. First of all, he acted as if you can’t be smart. He mocked your admirations for literature and art. And secondly he made clear you would bear his children and organize his parties for him once you are married. With horror, you realize that this is gonna be the purpose of your life. No more walks in the city, no more reading and writing, no more riding horses or feeding animals. It is going to be very boring and humiliating. You know most women face this life. Your mother most likely faced the same future when she was your age. 

You often dream about your mother. No one would ever tell you about her. How your father met her. How they fell in love. What their marriage was like. It sometimes feels like everyone purposely erases her from your life, your memories. You wish you could ask someone about her.

It is a bright morning and you have to prepare yourself for lunch again. Your father seems nervous about this and it bothers you. What did he plan for you this specific lunch? He didn’t speak to you all morning until the moment you are to be ready. You wear a purple British dress to show your origin, luxe and yet sober, decorated with dark jewels. You love the dress and want to wear it much more often. You hope your fiance will like it as well, or does you the favour of not noticing it all.

You sit at the end of the table while your fiance sits opposite from you. He scoffs while he reads the newspaper, mumbling something about poor peasants finally being gone. You roll your eyes knowing that he was not paying attention to you, disgusted by what he is thinking. You are the peasant, you want to tell him.

“Has something interesting happened this week?” You try to have him speak to you. Perhaps he will be nicer to you if you show interest in his business, you hoped

“Why do you want to know that?” He looks at you with raised brows, before looking at the newspaper again. “We did make a good deal with a Frenchman. He wants to use one of our ships. It is nothing you would understand, my dear. Keep doing what you girls always do.” He flashes you an ugly grin.

Whoever this Frenchman is, he is making a big mistake, you think. Your fiance is not one you want to trust.

“Actually,” he starts again, “I do have something to tell you this fine evening. When we get married, you will move in with me - into my house. It is for sale and I have almost enough money with the deals we make. My sister will live with us as well. The poor woman can’t find any good suitors.” He makes an exaggerated hand gesture as if to point out the poor situation of his sister.

“So you don’t have enough money yet?” 

“Soon enough I will,” he proudly replies.

You snort and before you can stop yourself, you say it aloud: “You shouldn’t promise me a house you can’t afford.”

Once the words you just spoke aloud sink in, you look down at your plate with shame. The silence between you is deafening. You dare to glance up just to see him closing his eyes. His nostrils flare and his jaw is tense. You could see that he is very angry and about to shout at you.

“It’s fine,” he sighs, fists clenching and unclenching again, “once you live with me I will teach you manners. Your father clearly only knows how to raise brats.”

You grimace when he calls you that, unable to stop your flinch. You hate him but your fear of him is bigger, and you are scared of what he will do once he is alone with you. 

After your lunch you walk with him to the front door. You bow out of respect and watch him put on his coat. Then he turns to you.   
“It was excellent,” your fiance says. He grabs your chin to lift your gaze to his. “You are a gorgeous good lady. You will be a perfect wife.”

You see the disdain in his eyes as he looks at you. His finger grips your chin tighter and it hurts. You want to squeak but keep your sound inside knowing your father is somewhere nearby. You hear him coming and your fiance lets you go to greet your father who just comes in. Your father smiles. You know he is hoping for a good relationship between you and your fiance.

Your fiance shakes his hand before leaving. You hear your father gushing about how perfect he is while you move your jaw. You didn’t expect him to grip your chin so hard. It may leave a bruise.

In the afternoon your father tells you that you have permission to go outside again. It is too late to go out for a walk but you rush to Annie to tell her the good news. The both of you have been eager to walk together, to practice your skills with strangers and to find the boy from the canal. You had told Annie about him, about how your heart flutters with excitement every time you think about him. Annie says it’s very stupid to fall in love with a boy you don’t know, but she supports you. She has said that it might be useful to speak to him to dissipate your feelings.

The next morning, you show your father your outfit for going outside, and when he approves, you quickly move upstairs to change into a simpler outfit. You had asked Annie for one of her dresses so you can act like a normal person out there. You made a deal that she could wear one of your dresses. You both know the risks and would try to keep it a secret.

With one of her dresses it feels like you are invisible. You look like her and every other civilian, not the daughter of a trader, but a normal person. Noticing how her dress is very comfortable, you were delighted that it has pockets.

“Do you put things in your pocket?”

“Of course, that’s what they are for,” Annie giggles. You have gotten to a point in your friendship you asked her to not call you a Miss anymore. You are my equal you once told her.

“I can’t believe it,” you said. “It is so useful.”

You walk over the cobblestones with her, mind at peace. The sun is gone and while it’s still very cold it feels like a gift to be outside again. You missed the wind, the fresh air and the people around you.

“I don’t know if he will be there,” Annie whispers.

“We will just try,” you whisper back.

The bridge is empty as you walk there, as was the river, devoid of ships. You feel a pang of sadness as you notice there is no one drawing on the shores. Which is of course a good reason, there are no imposing ships to use as an example. However, you reasoned with yourself, the boy you saw was drawing the people.

“He could be drawing somewhere else,” you suggest.

“You do realize Amsterdam is very large, right? He could be anywhere.” 

“Annie! Please be optimistic,” you say while turning to look the other way. “I just want to see him again.” 

Annie looks at you with sad eyes. She knows what you go through with your cruel fiance. She knows she would also get a crush on a stranger to escape the painful reality of having to marry him. She wonders if she would ever have a handsome man falling for her.

You grab her hand to take her to a market, the one Annie loves to shop at. It is where she buys her favorite bread and cheese, and she squeals when you squeeze her hand softly and assure her you will buy her something.

While you pay for her cheese Annie looks around the market, content in her place. She wonders if she can have many more days like this with you, before spotting something. Her eyes widen when she sees him, the boy from the canal. She turns to you in excitement, but you are still paying and talking with the seller, so she turns again to look at the boy while waiting impatiently.

That's him. That's the boy you have been gushing about. 

And when she let her eyes trace over his form, she could definitely see why you were so taken by him, his handsome features attractive. He is holding two heavy blocks of cheese to his sides, the veins in his arms visible under the strain. Not very built like the rich men tend to be, he is healthy with sun-kissed skin and strong limbs, the smile he directs at the stall owner breathtaking. 

“Here is your cheese.” You hold it out to Annie with a smile. She takes it while she still stares at him.

“What is wrong?” You ask her, worried at the lack of reply.

“When you said he is handsome, I didn’t expect him to be this handsome,” Annie whispers and lifts her finger to point in his direction.

You almost snap your neck with how fast you turn toward him, gasping as you look at him carrying the cheeses. His smile is gorgeous, you could not help but think.

“I-”

“You should go to him.” Annie grins at you, eyes shining in excitement.

“But what should I say? What if he doesn’t like me?”

“Whatever comes up in your mind. Nothing can go wrong! You are beautiful.”

“Annie...” you whine, before taking a deep breath, squaring your shoulders. You squeeze her arm before you slowly move towards him, approaching him carefully. Being so close to him feels scary. 

He walks toward a cheese stall. A woman and a man loudly announce the prizes of their cheeses while the boy is carrying the blocks towards them. You suspect he is their son.

Approaching their stall, you stare at their cheeses and prizes. You are so anxious that you can’t speak to them at all. Or even worse, that you miscalculate your coins and would embarrass yourself. You glance up to see the boy moving inside the stall, and he flashes you a smile. “I will be right there,” he says quickly.

You nod and feel the heat rush to your cheeks, and suddenly you want to turn back to Annie. It feels strange to have such strong emotions right in front of a stranger. You don’t even know him!

“Wat wilt u hebben? Jonkvrouwe.” He turns to you.

You think before you reply. “I- eh ik wil kaas..graag.” You stutter through the words. You see Annie out of the corner of your eye smiling at you encouragingly.

“You can speak English too if you like,” he chuckles. 

You gasp in embarrassment. “How did you know?”

“Your accent, my lady.”

“Oh, I am not married.” You want to slap yourself for saying this, it was inappropriate. “Ehm, I did like the Goudse kaas.”

“Of course.” He simply replies with a smile . You watch him pack the cheese. He looks even more handsome right in front of you. His eyes are deep brown and his hair is messy, dark. You notice the stubbles on his cheeks and wonder if he would be even more handsome if he lets it grow.

“Here it is,” he says once he is finished. 

You grab the coins you need and put them on his counter. Taking the cheese in your hands, you look up at him. He is still smiling at you.

“Ehm,” you feel the heat rushing back to your cheeks again, “I think you are a talented artist.” 

He grins, elated. “I knew it was you! I recognized you from a time ago. Why did you not return before?”

“My father grounded me. Two weeks long.” You don’t know why, but telling him this feels good. Like you can trust him.

“Oh that’s a shame. You missed the snowfall. Hopefully it returns so you can enjoy it too, my lady.”

You smile hearing him call you lady again. You don’t feel like correcting him.

“What is your name?”

“Marcus Pike, my lady. What is yours?”

Telling him feels like giving away a secret. No one except your family, Annie and your fiance know your name.

“A beautiful name,” he complimented with a soft smile, “I hope to see you again.”

“Me too. Have a nice day, Marcus!” 

You wave him goodbye with the small packed cheese in your hands. 

The boy, Marcus, looks at you curiously. He stands next to the stall and looks until you are out of view.

You are restless in the evening. You listened to your father speak about his business trips and the garden like the good daughter you are until all food was finished and he gave you permission to leave. Moving around in your room is all you can do right now. You wrote about today in your diary and you stared out of the window for a few minutes. Right now, you wish you could go downstairs and do something useful. Like studying the language or playing the piano. You feel restless after having met the boy.

His name is Marcus Pike. You like his name. It sounds good. You whisper it a few times, speaking it out loud. You wonder if he is thinking about you as well. You got quite flustered there in front of him. Next time, you promise yourself, you will be braver and ask him more questions.

In the morning, you ask Annie if she wants to come with you again. She looks unhappy as she says she can’t. Your father had tasked her to clean the house to the point no dust is visible since an important guest will arrive tonight. She tells you to get yourself ready as well. 

Disappointed, you ask your father if you at least can wander around in the street. You tell him you want to buy a dress for tonight. He agrees on one condition. You are back before afternoon falls to prepare yourself.

Going outside on your own feels like an adventure. You know you are safe as long as you stay on this street. However, you are wearing one of Annie’s dresses again and you will wander further than you were supposed to. 

It takes you longer than usual to get to the market as you don’t know the directions quite as well as Annie does. It is crowded and you feel a bit nervous. You push your hands in your pockets and glance around, noticing that everyone seems a bit tense today.

Arriving at the stall of the boy you don’t see him. With a disappointed look you want to turn.

“Pas op!” Someone called in alarm, but it was too late.

You bump into someone and fall backwards on the ground. A cheese clatters on the ground. 

“Oh,” you groan, feeling your body throb under the impact.

You hear people muttering words you cannot translate. An older woman lifts you while a man lifts the boy you recognised, it was Marcus. The woman fusses over you, hands grabbing yours to look at the scratches on your skin. 

“Oh, dit moeten we schoonmaken,” she says. You don’t know what the words meant, nor what to reply.

You look up to see Marcus saying something to his mother. She gasps and looks back at you.

“Darling, I will help you clean up your hands.” She still holds onto you, looking at the scratches.

You look at her and then at the ground. The cheese broke in parts, useless to sell. You freeze in horror as you realize that you ruined something for them, an apology falling from your lips. Marcus gives you a sympathetic look and a reassuring smile, but you still feel terrible.

The woman shouts at the man behind the stall. She takes you away from the market while he stays behind. Marcus follows the two of you. 

Before you can protest or ask questions she takes you inside a house. It is warm inside and you groan, feeling your hands itch with the scratches in it.

The woman makes you sit down on a chair and grabs a cloth. She wets it and puts it on your palms and cleans your wounds with slow movements. You look at her hands, they are soft. Glancing up at her face, you see her concentrated expression.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“It is not a problem, sweetheart,” she assures you. Cleaning your hands entirely, she throws the cloth away and comes back with a small jar. With a finger she puts a bit of the lavender scented salve on your hands.

“Good for the healing process,” she explains.

“I- thank you,” you say, giving her a small grateful smile. 

While you examine your hands, the crisp smell soothing, the woman takes her things towards the fireplace. Her son, Marcus, stands there awkwardly. He stares at you. You hear her talking to him in a raised voice. He turns his gaze away from you.

“I am sorry for what happened. I will pay for the damage,” you say, a bit louder.

They both turn to you.

“It is really not a problem.” The woman says again.

“Yes it is! I should have watched out. I want to pay for the entire cheese wheel.” 

While the woman looks at you with worry in her eyes, Marcus smiles.

It takes you a while to convince her to let you pay for the damage. She still looks at the coins with surprise. 

However, she doesn’t let you pay them without a proper thank you, and she started to prepare a meal. You can hear her cooking in their kitchen, something is pruttling and it smells wonderful.

You sit at their table with Marcus on the other side. He is still smiling. You have a hard time staying calm. Why is he smiling so much?

“I- I am sorry for what happened,” you whisper again.

“My mom is always so caring about others,” Marcus says, and gives you a smile, “Thank you for paying for the cheese. My mother always tries to assure people we are good, but without your payment, we would have lost a lot of money.”

“Cheeses are expensive,” You smile sheepishly, nodding in understanding.

He chuckles. “Yeah - but they are tasty.”

You look up at him to see his hair falling in his eyes. He wipes it away with his hand. You wonder how those hands are capable of making such beautiful drawings.

“Bread too.” He says. 

You blink, “What?”

Marcus gives you a smile. “I said ‘bread too’. They are tasty too.”

“Ohhh, yes. I love the bread from the market,” you think about it, then remember his stall, “doesn’t your father need help now?” You remember the man at the stall, assuming by the age that he must be his father.

“He isn’t my father. Just a man working for my grandfather’s farm. My father is a doctor. He is having appointments with patients right now.” Marcus smiles proudly as he turns to look at his mother. “My mother is smart too. Her father was a farmer but it was her who made it the most successful farm in the entire area.”

“Really?” You ask, an awed smile on your face, “That is wonderful.”

“What is your mother’s work?” He looks up at you and it takes all your strength to not immediately flush under his gaze.

“I- I have never known my mother. No one won’t tell me about her, not even my father. I don’t know how she died, how they met or who she was. It is sad.”

He takes your hand to stroke it sympathetically. “Perhaps your father has a good reason?”

“I don’t know!” You frown.

“You could ask him.” He suggests. 

“Absolutely not! I don’t want to get in trouble,” you protest, looking at him with wide eyes, “I shouldn’t even be here. My fiance will be angry.” Glancing up at him again you see him look down, a wry little smile in the corner of his mouth, but it was not enough to distract you from the serious expression in his eyes. 

“And here I thought you were an unmarried woman,” he whispers.

You wanted to grab his hands, but you refrain from it, fearing that he might pull away. You feel hopeless, but you wish to tell him, something in you trusting him despite the short time you have known each other.   
“I am not married yet,” you confess quietly, looking down on your hands, avoiding his gaze, “I wish I didn’t have to marry him.”

“You don’t love him?” Marcus lifts his head, a confused note in his voice

You scoff, thinking about the cruel eyes of your fiance. “I hate him.”

He frowns and he is about to say something when his mother returns, two bowls in her hands.

“Children, I have soup for you two. It is very healthy, eat all of it.” His mother says while putting down the food. She pats her son’s head, messing with his hair. He protests, laughing, calling her mom. 

You think about your own mother while eating her soup. It is very spicy but it tastes well. You compliment her on her cooking.

“Do you want to see something fun?” Marcus suddenly asks.

“Depends,” you reply, “I have to be back before evening falls.”

“I can show you the outer canals. It is a good place to draw,” he quips. 

His mother tuts, raising her eyebrows at Marcus. “It is going to snow, my son. I advise you to stay inside. We don’t want her sick, do we? Why don’t you show her your drawings upstairs?”

“Yes, mother.” He turns to you again. “Would you like that?”

You beam at him. “Of course I do. Thank you!” 

Never had a man invited you to look at his art before, since most men thought it was bad for a woman to look at their art. You wouldn’t understand, they would tell you, as a Lady, you are not fit to understand. A woman should prepare for her husband, not care about divine arts. 

And this one, Marcus, he just wants to show you his art. His smile is gorgeous and you found yourself thinking about what it would be like to have him as your husband. Would he be good for you? Would he provide you a safe home? Would he be good in bed? You shiver at the last question.

“Don’t stay upstairs too long, children!” His mother warns.

“I will only take a look before I go home, mrs. Pike.” You assure her. Understanding why she is worried.

Getting up, he leads you upstairs. Their entire house feels like a good home. It is not as large as your father’s warehouse but it is beautiful. You can see his father makes good coins as a doctor.

Marcus takes you to a small room. On one side an equally small bed is placed. The sheets are clean and you smell the same smell Marcus has. A candle is positioned next to the bed on a table, next to three books. They are educational books. On the other side it is messy, paper and canvasses everywhere. You don’t know where to look.

One of the drawings you could see is of a girl sitting in the park. Her hair drapes over her shoulder while she plays with a tiny dog. Another drawing is of his own mother. She looks gorgeous as she smiles. One canvas is of a flowerfield. The flowers are neatly colored and full of details, and you look at it in awe.

“You are really talented!” You gasp, turning to him.

“Thank you,” he says, and fiddles with his tunic. A dimple appears in his cheek when he smiles nervously, as if he was waiting for your opinion.

“Do you-- do you go to monsieurs academy for arts?” You remember asking Annie about it.

“I did!” Marcus says. ”He says he can’t teach me anything anymore. All I must do is find someone who wants a painting from me. A commission, portrait, anything.” He looks away sadly.

You realize no one has commissioned something from him. “What if you show something to my father? He loves meeting new painters,” you suggest.

“You would do that?” He looks at you with wide eyes, hope starting to shine in them.

“It is my payback for the damage I caused,” you say, suddenly shy. “And I want to see you being successful.”

“You are kind, my lady.” He smiles again.

“Don’t call me lady. Just call me by my name, all right?”

“I will, I promise.” He grins at you, mischief is visible in his eyes.

You take him with you to your own house. The sky is still clear and you know it means you have enough time before the guest arrives. In front of the main entry you turn to look at Marcus. He holds the portfolio of drawings. You step closer to touch his tunic and coat. You smoothen the coat and without asking him, you brush your finger through his hair as well, making it look a bit more neatly, unfortunately the opposite happens. You want to reminisce yourself in how his hair feels underneath your touch. You don’t notice how he looks at you in awe. His hands clutching the portfolio, he is both nervous and excited.

You take a step backwards to inspect him. “You look good,”you compliment.

“Thank you.”

“Could you wait here? I have to change into my proper dress very quickly. My father will have a heart attack if he sees me like this.”

Marcus chuckles and nods. “I will wait right here.”

You rush inside and don’t even greet your father. He obviously didn’t hear you. A piano plays in the background. You rush to change in a proper dress, heart beating fast. You hear Annie coming in.

“What are you doing?” She looks at you with concern audible in her voice.

“Annie! Please, help me change quickly. Marcus waits outside.”

Annie wants to ask why he is standing outside but she sees you are almost panicking. She rushes to the closet to grab some of your accessoires.

“I don’t want him to wait so long and I don’t want my father to notice him waiting there.” You quickly tell her in between putting on clothing.

“Your make-up!”

“Oh dear.” 

Washing your face you look at yourself in the mirror. You put on powder and curl your lashes while Annie does your hair. You wonder if Marcus will be put off by how you look right now, all neatly and properly dressed. He seems to like the dress that is from Annie.

“I think you are ready,” she whispers from behind you. A smile appears on her face. “How cute is he? Is he a gentleman?”

“Annie, I wish I could marry him instead,” you confess to her before standing up, and rushing downstairs again.

Annie looks at the door you rushed through and frowns at the thought of you falling in love with another man. She dislikes your fiance as much as you do, however, the risk of all this could ruin entire lives. Your reputation would be tarnished if you pursue this, and Marcus could be sent away. Annie wonders if she has to do something about this. But can she stop the love between two? She would rather not.

Downstairs, you open the door to let Marcus inside. He stares at you with wide eyes, taking in your outfit.

“You look beautiful-” he starts to say, before cutting himself off, straightening his back as his eyes settle on something behind you.

“And who is this? My dear daughter, we have a guest soon.” Your father interrupts the both of you.

Marcus steps forward and bows. “My apologies, sir. My name is Marcus Pike. Your daughter has found me and my art and wants me to show you.”

Your father chuckles. “My daughter is a stubborn woman. Are you the boy she told me about? The boy who could paint moving people?” The last question comes out almost mocking. But you could see that your father is also fascinated.

“I am not sure,” Marcus laughs nervously. “I don’t know what she has said about me.”

“Ah, women tend to talk a lot,” your father dismisses . “Come inside. Annie, bring us a cup of tea.”

You watch your father lead Marcus inside the living room. Annie gives you a look before she disappears to get tea. You sigh, what did I do?

You have never felt more intense nervosity in your body. You feel your hands shake and hide them in your sleeves. Marcus opened his portfolio a few minutes ago and your father is inspecting every drawing. He gasps sometimes or says something like “Ah interesting.” Some drawings he ignores. You have no idea what this means and Marcus looks at him with worry, and you could see how his hands shake.

Then your father suddenly stops and closes his map. He looks at both you and Marcus.

“I am surprised my daughter has such a good eye for new talent. I should ask her opinion sometimes.”

You scoff at what he says. He just says it to impress Marcus. He would never ask your opinion.

“Do you take commissions?” Your father asks, looking inquiringly at Marcus. At this, you gasp in delight. Did he really ask this?

“You would be my first. It would be an honor to make something for you.” Marcus bows again.

“Get up, boy,” he laughs. “I want a portrait of my daughter. Once she is married I will barely see her. I want to hang a painting of her in this room.” he points at the wall above the fireplace.

“Of course, sir.” Marcus agrees. “Your daughter is too beautiful to not have her own portrait.

Your father laughs at him. “I agree. She is too beautiful to not have her own. If you ruin this commission I will make it my personal mission to ruin your career.” His laugh is still genuine but Marcus looks away uncomfortably.

Marcus puts all his drawings back in his portfolio while your father turns to you to give you a smile. Then he turns back to Marcus, a bit confused and curious as well. You look at him suspiciously.

“Young boy?”

Marcus looks up again.

“Who taught you English so well? Did you go to a school?”

Marcus looks down at his drawing before he smiles and looks up again. “My mother taught it to me. And my father taught me Italian.”

You have never seen your father so surprised. He looks at Marcus as if he just appeared here.

“Who are your parents, boy?”

“My father is a doctor. He met my mother here when he was asked to save the daughter of an important Lord. She is the daughter of a farmer. They got married here as well. When my father learnt I wanted to be a painter he sent me to the school of arts. It was quite wonderful there, my lord.” Marcus grins at him. 

At that moment the doorbell rings and all three of you look at the hall with panic in your eyes. The guest your father spoke about is already here!


End file.
